


Took it all and took the dirt road home

by nagdabbit



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No Dialogue, No Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Skinny Dipping, good old fashioned yearning, just two boys and a pond, mentions of internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagdabbit/pseuds/nagdabbit
Summary: He knows he should be afraid towant, but it's hard to fear an Indiana summer.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62





	Took it all and took the dirt road home

**Author's Note:**

> well, folks, i sure haven't posted shit in awhile. depressive episodes are fun, and then it didn't feel right to write a damn thing even if i could have. which, honestly, it still doesn't feel like a great time. there's still a hell of a lot of work to be done out in the world that it feels silly posting little stories like this, but maybe someone needs a few minutes break before getting back in the fight. 
> 
> (if you're reading lamp-bright rind, i love you and you mean the world to me, and i am working [slowly] on the next chapter and figuring out how to fix the ba test kitchen stuff in the last chapter. it's just very hard to do that when there are other things to be done)
> 
> so this was a little bit of an experiment, i guess. writing in present tense sucks and i hate it and i'm never doing it again and i'm sure i missed a couple mistakes but i've been over this so many times that i can't even see words anymore. i just kinda wanted to write something a little peaceful, and then this happened. kinda sorta ambiguously takes place before season 3 if you wanna put a time to it.
> 
> title is from sins of my father by tom waits
> 
> EDIT: MY BEST FRIEND MADE ME A [MOODBOARD](https://samfosho.tumblr.com/post/621736926895046656/my-dear-friend-nagdabbit-wrote-another-something) FOR THIS FIC AND IT IS GORGEOUS!!

The water is still sun-warm where he floats. The pond water is still and placid, nothing like the wild oceans he remembers. There's no tide here, no waves. Nothing to push or pull him from the shore but warm hands and bright eyes and a smile full of promise.

Above them, the sky is wide. 

Not a far-reaching horizon of a sunset over white-capped waves, but its own sort of sea stretching out before him. Inky black and endless and dotted with stars and a moon so big and so bright it seeps through the Indiana night better than a California streetlight. 

When he turns his head and looks over, lets the water lap gently at the corner of his mouth and his eye and the sharp jut of his cheekbone, he can see Harrington clearly. See every mole and freckle and dip and curve of his jawline and bright, blue moonlight sparkling off his smile.

Harrington doesn't look back, but Billy just _knows_ that he knows he’s looking.

He wants--he doesn't know what, entirely. He wants to _want_. Wants to want whatever it is Harrington has to give. Wants to _desire_. Wants to be wanted, desired, in return. 

He wants to kiss him, Harrington-- _Steve_. 

He wants to _take_ what this boy is offering, wants to hold on and pull close and scoop up every offered drop with both hands. He wants--he doesn't know what, not really. 

He knows women, soft skin and softer lips. Knows his way around a woman's body, regardless of whether or not he ever really wanted to. Knows what's _allowed_ and _accepted_ and _safe_. Knows what he's _supposed_ to want. Knows to keep his distance, to keep his gaze quick and fleeting. Knows better than to truly _look_ , let alone touch.

But he knows, too, what Steve offered when he smiled at Billy, teeth bloody and eyes foggy with drink. And he knows what he meant when he asked if Billy wanted to go swimming. Knew from his tone and the look on his face and the bite of his pearly whites into his plump, lower lip.

He knows he's pushing into something wild and new and _wrong_. He knows he should feel fear like he feels the fading bruises on his back or the cut week-old left festering on the inside of his cheek. He should feel fear like he felt the fist Steve threw at him, just hours before. But the sky is endless and the night is bright and it's hard to feel _fear_ when it feels like the warm silk bed of the water around him. 

He knows he should be afraid to _want_ , but it's hard to fear an Indiana summer. 

He drops his feet down, sinks until he's standing, his toes finding purchase in country mud, not coastline sand. The water is so still, so quiet, he barely makes a sound when he moves. A few drops of water from the ends of his curls, sending ripples across the glassy surface. For a few moments he knows that he's standing in chest deep water, toes sinking into Indiana mud, the scent of honeysuckle and heat-dried grasses on the breeze. For a moment he's watching Harrington float peacefully across the pond's surface. 

And then the ripples still and the stars above stop dancing across the water below, and he's looking at another sky. Wildflowers dot the hillsides around them like their own kind of constellations, another endless sea for them to float in. The breeze isn't strong enough to send the Queen Anne's Lace dancing, isn't enough to ripple the waves of brittle grasses, isn't enough to rile the sea of stars.

The skies, above and below, glitter and shine.

The darkness is so big and bright that Billy can clearly trace the peaceful slope of Steve's smile. 

He _wants_. And so he moves, slowly closing in until he's looking down at Steve. Until strands of chestnut hair, wild and soft, drift and float toward him, tickling across his chest. Until he can count the marks dotting Steve’s serenely soft face. Moves until he’s close enough to touch and take what he wants.

He doesn't know if Steve hears him move, hears the delicate drops of water echoing across the still surface. Feels ripples tickle against his cheek. Hears the approaching thunder of Billy's heartbeat. 

He doesn't know any of that, but Steve opens his eyes and looks up at him then, his smile soft and peaceful. 

The darkness here is so bright that Billy swears he can see himself reflected in Steve's eyes. Can see the ocean of stars scattered out and glittering before him. 

They started off fighting, an hour ago--maybe two or three, now. A bonfire, kids screaming and laughing, the scent of cheap beer and cheaper vodka, the twang country music out of some car stereo. A bumped shoulder, rolled eyes and sharp words. 

Billy was keyed up and Steve was giddy with Fireball and freedom. 

It hadn't been a long drive out of the Hawkins trees into Indiana farmland, where paved road turned to dust and gravel. To more rolling hills and tall grass than haunted woods and whispers. The music had been low and Steve rambled over top it, head tipped back against the seat as his hands wove across the space in front of him. He had told stories, tall tales about trespassing and skinny dipping. He had laughed, unconcerned by Billy's silences.

Steve was still drunk when he told Billy to pull over, told Billy that _no, no,_ trust me _, there haven't been cows in this field for years_. Was still drunk and giggling when he pulled apart the barbed wire for Billy to crawl through, rather than over. Said words like _spring-fed_ and _abandoned_. He was drunk when he said they wouldn't need flashlights, and Billy was drunk enough to trust him, even if he wasn't drunk enough to believe him.

Steve was still drunk, had to be, or he wouldn't be looking up at him like that. He was smiling up at Billy, like there wasn't still dried blood on his upper lip and a bruise on his jaw. 

He keeps smiling as Billy dips closer, smiling like Billy hadn't tried to knock his teeth in just hours before. 

He smiles into the kiss, hands lifting to gently sink into Billy's hair. He hums into the kiss, a pleased, hungry little song. He tastes like wheat berries and wild honey and sweet cream; he tastes rich and sweet and had Billy longing for something he didn't even know existed until now.

Steve laughs into the kiss, his shaking shoulders sending ripples out and away from them, and the stars dance.

He pulls away, twists away, and Billy doesn't have even a second to reach out to catch him before he pushes his way into Billy's space and pushed him back, back into deeper water.

His smile isn't fading.

His eyes glittered with starlight.

The darkness here, chin deep in the Indiana midnight, was so bright he could see each and every mole dotting Steve's skin, echos of the stars stretching out from them in all directions.

He feels hands on his neck and on his back, wrapping around his wrists and skimming up his chest. Every touch is gentle and soft and _blinding_.

Hours ago, they'd been _fighting_. Bonfire and cheap beer and jeers and cheers lighting a fight up their spines. Billy'd needed a fresh kind of hurt to blot out the ache already heavy in his bones. New blood to paint over the old, bruises made by choice rather than by circumstance. He'd needed to fight back against the closest thing he could find, and Steve had obliged.

And then he’d laughed and grabbed Billy’s wrist as they scattered away from flashing lights. Steve must have walked or caught a ride or simply must not have _cared_ about leaving his car behind, because he'd dragged Billy toward his own Camaro with a carefree laugh and blood on his chin.

Billy had pushed, then, and Steve had pulled.

Steve pushes, now, until they are knocking knees and tangling themselves up as they tread water. Until his toes don’t touch the bottom and he is floating in an endless night.

Billy pulls him close.

Billy presses his hands to every inch of skin he can reach, pulls at hands and wrists and hips and cheeks. Pulls him in with hands on the dip of his spine, an ankle hooking around the bend of a knee. Lean muscles ripple beneath his palms.

He wants to push back. Wants to push Steve back the way they'd come, push until their feet sink and slip in thick mud. Push until he can haul Steve up onto shore, until he can lay Steve out on the dry dirt, sun-baked grasses crackling and prickling beneath his palms and his elbows and his knees. Wants to see if Steve will still laugh into his kisses, if the shake of his shoulders will _shake_ the earth beneath them in the same way that the starlight ripples and dances across the water around them.

He sinks his fingers into wild, chestnut hair, presses his breath against Steve's warm smile and holds on tight. He pushes his thigh between Steve's own, treading and twining through water that moves honey-thick and slow around them.

Above them, the midnight sky is bright, and wide, and endless.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](https://nagdabbit.tumblr.com/) if you enjoy dumbassery, dnd memes and shitposting <3


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